


Smile Even Though You're Sad

by phangirlingforphan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, M/M, Student!Dan, photographer!phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:56:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10040069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phangirlingforphan/pseuds/phangirlingforphan
Summary: dan is the son of a rich man, unwillingly studying business in London who wanders into a gallery looking for some quiet, and instead finds the happy-go-lucky owner with a camera around his neck, the nicest smile he’s ever seen and a knack for knowing exactly what to say.





	

The transition from Winter to Spring is his least favourite time of year. That and Christmas, but that’s another story.

Spring is supposed to be about new life, rejuvenation and the births of more baby animals that are destined to be slaughtered. To Dan, we’re all suckers under the thumb of a capitalist society that doesn’t care about the little people or the fact you want to lose weight this year. It’s all money, money, money, taxes, taxes, taxes and impending cuts and losses to those who do nothing but good in the world.

Dan is a walking contradiction. He refuses to be one of them yet that’s what he’s going to become.

When people ask him why he’s studying for a degree in Economics and Business he can never give a sufficient enough answer to make them understand.

There are three types of people doing his course: the ones who want to be rich and successful like their parents, the ones who have less money but dream of success, and then there’s the ones who don’t want any of that. He pretends it isn’t only him but it’s a lie.

People guess he’s the first one because it’s no big secret that he has money. His appearance, his clothing, his apartment - it all boasts Daddy’s big fat trust fund.

It’s easy to discover who’s genuine and who’s an asshole in this world when you have Givenchy written on your t-shirt.

He leans against the brick wall outside his lecture building, ignoring the scratches it’ll be making on the leather of his jacket, and fumbles for his lighter in his pocket. Smoking is a dirty habit that he can’t promise he’ll ever quit.

“They give you cancer, y’know,” someone shouts at him as they walk past. Julian, ugh. The guy is the human embodiment of smarmy. He has the displeasure of sitting next to him every Wednesday in a statistics lecture. Whilst Dan writes notes, Julian scrolls through Tinder and messages seven women at once.

Dan’s response is a middle finger.

“Real mature, Howell. See you inside.” And then Julian winks at him as if they’re friends. It makes Dan want to retch.

He tosses the unfinished cigarette onto the ground and stubs it out with the heel of his boot. There’s not enough nicotine in the world that’ll make these next couple of hours bearable.

The decision to ditch for the day isn’t a hard one to make.

 

* * *

 

 

He hails the first taxi that he sees and asks the driver to take him somewhere happy. He gets a grunt in return and ends up somewhere he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.

A rainbow of shops and houses stretch out before him; buildings of different shapes and sizes all squashed together like tetris blocks, each one louder in colour than it’s neighbour. Market stalls and tents stand opposite, people selling fabrics, food and jewellery, customers perusing and haggling for the best prices.

Well, he did ask for happy.

He saunters through the crowds, weaving around gatherings of people and nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. It’s happy, sure, but it’s too busy. He’s never been one for crowds, after he got pushed into a moshpit at a Radiohead gig a few years ago he vowed to stay away from crowds for as long as he could.

The niggling claustrophobia is clawing at him, shrouding his mind with racing thoughts. There’s got to be somewhere nearby that he can slip into - a small, quiet cafe, a park, anything. Every shop he passes is bursting at the seams as is his need to escape.

Eventually, he comes to an alleyway and desperately careers right into it. It’s deserted. It’s perfect.

There doesn’t seem to be many shops down this way; it’s all cobbled pavements and a faint smell of chimney smoke.

He ambles slowly down it, most of the shops have shut down with only boarded up windows and fading signs left to preserve their memory. He supposes nobody really thinks about the alleyways, they always seem eerie to go down, especially as not much light can seep over them.

He gets to a dead-end and is about to turn back and force himself to face the hoards again, when he catches a glimpse of yellow to his right.

The shop is brightly coloured, like the center of a daisy or the petals of a sunflower. There are photographs in the window and they’re frankly gorgeous. Portraits of strangers shouldn’t be this interesting, but they way they’re photographed is, it’s personal and intrusive but mesmerising. So mesmerising that he absolutely has to go inside.

He steps inside, a bell tinkling above him as he does, and scans the room with his eyes. More photographs sweep the walls, landscapes, wildlife, weddings - and he’s drawn to the vividness of each one.

“Hey there,” says somebody. A male.

Dan starts a little. He hadn’t realised someone was stood next to him. He turns his head and leaning on a long, wooden bar of coffee cups and machines is a tall, dark-haired man. His blue eyes match the brightness of the photos of the sky he has displayed. Slung around his neck is a large, black camera that looks as expensive as the Gucci shoes on Dan’s feet. He’s quirky but beautiful and his smile is one of the prettiest things he’s ever seen.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t see you there for a second,” Dan apologises. “Is this…is this your gallery?”

“Yep!” the guy says, nodding. The black fringe obscuring his forehead falls into his eyes. He pushes it away on reflex. “All the photos are mine.”

“You’re incredibly talented, erm, sorry what’s your name?”

The guy comes forward and extends his hand, “I’m Phil, Phil Lester.”

Dan accepts Phil’s hand in a firm shake and a smile. “Dan, Dan Howell.”

“Well, Dan Howell, thank you for the compliment. It’s always nice to hear,” Phil says. “Can I get you a coffee at all whilst you browse? It’s free.”

“I’m not somebody to turn down free coffee. Absolutely, thank you.”

“I like you already,” Phil grins. Dan hopes that his blush isn’t too obvious.

He watches as Phil pours his coffee. The gallery is quaint but the walls are a patchwork of photographs, each one dazzling in its own way and not just in colour.

“So, where did you study photography?” Dan asks.

Phil turns around and hands Dan the coffee, “I didn’t.”

“Wow, so you’re totally self-taught? That’s…that’s something.”

Phil snorts into his cup, “Tell that to my parents.”

Dan bristles. It’s an open-ended answer, but he’s known this guy for the space of about a minute, he’s not about to ask him for details on why his parents were evidently against him doing photography. Although he understands the feeling in his own way.

He decides on saying, “I’ll drink to that,” and holds his cup up in mock celebration.

Phil giggles but knocks his cup with Dan’s nevertheless. “Yeah, my parents definitely didn’t approve of me opening a gallery or pursuing photography at all. But I figure you have to do what makes you happy, right?”

“I wish I could be an advocate for that, too, but um, I don’t know if I can.” Dan answers honestly, “I study a degree I don’t particularly care about.”

Phil hops up onto the counter, his long legs dangling in front of him. “What do you do?”

“I, erm, study economics and business,” Phil makes a face and it doesn’t go unnoticed. “I know,” Dan supplies, “It sounds as shit as it is.”

“Then, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you do it? Why not quit? Study something else?”

“It’s complicated. I’m a bit like you, except I listened to my parents and did what they wanted.”

“I’m sorry, Dan.” Phil says, offering a meek smile. “I know how it feels.”

Dan shrugs. “It’s fine. I mean, I’ll get a good job won’t I? I’ll have money. It’ll be worth it.” he says the words robotically, like they’re rehearsed, it’s the same spiel he says every time he’s on the phone to his Mum.

Phil is chewing on his lip, looking concerned. “I know it probably isn’t my place, but you shouldn’t have to keep doing something you despise.”

Dan takes a gulp of coffee, enjoying the scald it causes at the back of his throat. “I have no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Phil says quietly.

“They gave me the designer clothes, the trust fund and the private education and they told me to be happy.”

“And are you?”

The steel of Dan’s gaze softens. He ruffles his hair a little and a single curl still manages to dangle across his forehead.

“You know, Phil, you’re the first person to ask me that.”

“Just…picture it a minute,” Phil hops from the counter and sets down his cup. “You’re young. You’re in London. You have passions, surely? What are they?”

Dan glances up at a photo that keeps catching his eye. It’s a young guy, not much older than himself, leaning against a wall and laughing. That guy looks happy. He looks like he’s going to go places and he’ll do it with a smile on his face. The envy is palpable.

“I like fashion,” Dan says. “I wear designer clothes,” he gestures to his shoes and t-shirt, “I attend fashion weeks here and in New York and Milan, I have a subscription to Vogue, I live and breathe it.”

“Then why not do something with it?”

“Didn’t we just go over that? My parents?”

Phil’s shoulders droop. “Yes, I know, but…I hate to be presumptuous, I’m assuming they don’t live in London?” Dan nods and Phil takes it as permission to continue, “So, even if you started to pursue it, how would they find out? You could start a blog, document your fashion pieces that you wear, talk about fashion week and Dolce and whoever they’re called.”

Dan stifles a laugh. “Gabbana. Phil, you’re lovely, and I’m so glad things have worked out for you, but it’s never ever going to happen for me. I’m under their thumb for the rest of my life.”

Phil laughs nervously. “You say that, but my gallery is being shut down in a week.”

That certainly wasn’t the answer Dan was expecting. “What?” he almost yells, “Why?”

“Because,” Phil shrugs, “nobody knows I’m here. You’re my first customer in days, nobody wants to buy photos from a guy they don’t know. I have my freelance job doing photoshoots for weddings and small magazines, so I’ll get by.”

“No, that’s not fair, I’ve been in here for half an hour and you’re the most talented photographer I’ve seen. I read Vogue and you’re better than half the people who do photos for them. There’s this…way you capture people. That’s why I came in, the photos in your window, they make you want more.” He rambles on so much he loses his breath, and he can feel himself blushing a little. “You’re so good, Phil, really fucking good.”

“It’s fine, Dan. Honestly. It’ll be fine. This gallery was great while it lasted, but nobody buys from me. I can’t make an income from this.”

“This is bullshit.”

“It’s life.”

Dan frowns. “I want to help. How much would it cost you to keep this gallery open?”

“The lease itself is thousands a month, my funds don’t stretch that far anymore, I’d have to sell every photo I own.”

Dan wastes no time in brandishing his wallet. “I’ll take them all.”

Phil laughs, “Nice one.”

“I’m deadly serious.”

Phil’s laugh quickly turns into a look of total incredulity. “Dan, there’s no way. I refuse any payment. We’re talking thousands here for every photo, that’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t fucking care!” Dan says, throwing his arms up. “I am so tired of talented people being fucked over like this. One of us has to achieve their dreams and you have more chance than I do. Take my money.”

Phil’s fingers fiddle with his camera. “You’ve known me not even an hour.”

“And you’ve spoken more sense to me than anybody has for the entire twenty one years that I’ve been alive. That’s gotta mean something hasn’t it?”

“I…I can’t. I’m sorry. Maybe…you should go.” Phil stutters.

Dan’s mouth sets into a hard line. “Phil, this is crap.”

“I’m okay with it. I’ll be fine, trust me.”

“You know, I study this degree and I fucking hate it. I have more money than any twenty one year old should and I all I do is buy clothes with it and get my haircut. That’s it. It’s about time I spent my money on things that are meaningful and important, like this,” he gestures to the photos decorating the walls, “These photos are incredible. The world needs to see how good you are.”

“But how? How do I do that? My gallery is closing and nobody knows it exists.”

“I’ll start my blog,” Dan splutters, “I’ll do what you suggested. I’ll blog. I have money, I can advertise and I study business so I know how this works. And you, you can take the photos for me and I can pay you for it. I’ll model the clothes, you take the photos and we get your work out there.”

“Dan, I - ”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Dan interrupts. “I’ll give you my number and you can think it over. Please, just trust me on this.”

“I want to say yes so badly,” Phil whispers, “I don’t know. You hardly know me.”

“I get it. We don’t really know each other, but you’re talented and I want you to work for me. I know this is ridiculous and the setting for some weird, cliché movie, but we could do this. I swear to you.”

Phil takes a deep breath. This gallery is his entire world. Every photo he cares about is here, every ounce of his life sits on these walls. It’s more than just bricks and plaster.

He holds out his phone. “I’ll call you and let you know.”

Dan takes the phone and punches in his number, handing it back. “I really hope you say yes. And, thank you for the coffee. I’ll let you…think. I know this is a lot to take in. It just feels like we could do something special here.”

Dan heads to the door, pulling his jacket tighter around his torso. As he goes to leave, Phil says something to him.

“Thank you, Dan. I, um, I appreciate that you took time to come in here. I haven’t been very successful but you’ve kind of made up for that.”

Dan smiles warmly in return, “No, thank you, you have this weird knack for knowing what to say. I needed this. Goodbye, Phil.”

And then he leaves. He may not have bought any of the photos and he’s still studying a degree he hates, but Phil, somehow, has instilled this hope in him that he didn’t know existed there anymore.

 

* * *

 

It’s the same evening when Dan’s lying on his bed, his laptop open in front of him. He found Phil on Twitter and Facebook and has been scrolling through his feed for an hour now. The guy radiates joy and warmth, even through social media. The added fact he’s drop dead gorgeous is a bonus.

Dan isn’t somebody to be spontaneous. He’s spent so much of his life doing as he’s told, listening to his parents, applying for this degree. But today he skipped a class, something he’s never done, and ended up meeting a guy who may or may not completely change his life.

The website domain danisafashionblogger.co.uk has been bought now and it’s his for a year, should he choose to use it. Blogging about fashion could be fun. He’s got a lot to say and there’s a gap for young males like himself talking about this sort of this. Maybe it could work.

It’s then that his phone lights up and an unknown number shows on the screen.

“Hello?” he answers, a knot twisting in his stomach. He even crosses his fingers.

“Dan? It’s Phil. F-fuck it. Let’s do this.”

**-**

**FIN.**

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked this, please leave comments/kudos if you did. thank you!! :-)


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